Warning: This fic contains mild gore, death, and AmCan. If you're not comfortable with any of these things, this is probably not the fic for you.

Thank you.

War sucks.

I mean, seriously, do we really have to fight like this to solve our differences? Why do all of these people have to die for some petty disagreement? Why can't we just compromise and get along?

Of course, if it were that simple, life wouldn't be interesting enough for those on top. The ones who just love watching their pawns battle it out, not caring if they survive. What they don't realize is that they're pawns too, of something bigger than themselves. But like I said, they don't know.

Canada sighed to himself. He'd just gotten home from his tour, but it wasn't much of a home anymore. The house itself was barely standing. That didn't bode well.

Still, there was at least something left, so he picked up his duffel bag and walked up to it.

When he opened the door, it fell down in front of him, forcing him to trod on it to get inside. Once he'd surveyed the damage, he'd deemed the upstairs too dangerous to go to and had to make do with sleeping on the couch that night.

The next morning, he'd tried fixing himself something hot, but when he turned on the stove it started to smell odd, like there was a gas leak, and he'd decided it was probably too dangerous to use, so he'd turned it off. He'd ended up eating cold cereal without milk, as he'd emptied his fridge of the stuff before he went to war.

In the middle of his meal, his bear finally turned up. It looked thin and just plain unhealthy. It sat down at his feet and gave him sad eyes. He sighed and put the bowl on the floor. "Thanks," muttered the bear as it greedily gobbled up the food.

"You're welcome, Kumashishi."

It glanced up at him. "Who?"

Canada smiled. "I'll forgive you this time, since I've been gone for so long. Canada, remember?" The bear shrugged and didn't comment. It was too busy eating.

Canada left the bear to its food and went back to the couch where he'd spent the night. All of his electronics were destroyed. What exactly had happened? He wanted to call his boss and ask, but his boss' number changed so often lately that he doubted he could get ahold of him.

A sharp pain ripped through his arm. He winced. That had been happening more and more frequently lately, but what did it mean? He was sure it had something to do with battles, but the pain was always in that same spot: the spot just below where his right arm connected with his shoulder.

He had mentioned it to someone once—it was either France or England or Prussia—and they had said to just ignore it, because it meant he was growing up. Growing pains, just like the humans got. But was it supposed to happen in the same place like that? At that they'd frowned and said they'd never heard of that happening before, but at that point he'd been called by someone and he had to take it. By the time he was finished, the other nation had already gone home.

He wondered if America got growing pains.

It wasn't unlikely. After all, America claimed more and more of the world as his territory every day. He was even getting taller from it all—he was about 6'6". It had overjoyed him-now he had more room to fill up with hamburgers, he'd said, or something like that. Canada had rolled his eyes and told him not to get too arrogant.

America had laughed. "Arrogant? Me? Yeah right!"

Canada had just smiled and shook his head. There was no talking to America about that kind of thing.

At the memory of that conversation, Canada smiled to himself. He hadn't seen much of America lately, but he knew he was safe. After all, the US was practically an empire by now, even though they refused to call themselves that. No, every country they'd taken over was simply another state, a shadow of its former self.

"Mattie~ Guess who finally got Mexico to join him?"

"Mexico? But that means..."

"Yep! We've got North America all to ourselves now!"

"U-Um...wow. That's...that's great, Al."

"Huh? What's wrong?"

"You're not going to try to...take me next, are you?"

"What? No! Mattie, I would never do that! I love you too much to do something like that to you."

"Oh...I see. Thank you."

"Is there something else on your mind?"

"...No, I just...well, you were there. Did Mexico die?"

America had gone oddly silent at that, and Canada had regretted asking the question. He quickly changed the subject to something insignificant, and America had cheered up instantly. The rest of that day was a blur, but that conversation was fresh in Matthew's mind.

"I love you too much to do something like that to you."

Canada kicked his couch bitterly. What a lie. "If you loved me, my house wouldn't be like this... Kuma wouldn't be starving...my people wouldn't be dying because of your selfishness!" He gasped as another sharp pain hit his arm. It was worse than usual. But what did it mean?

"What happened to your door?"

Canada whipped his head around toward the voice asking the question. "Who's there?" he inquired nervously. He started to walk over toward the source of the voice, but tripped and fell, landing on his bottom.

"It's just me. Jeez, you don't have to act so shaken up."

"A-America?"

"That's right." America turned the corner to Canada's living room. "What are you doing on the floor?"

"What are you doing in my house?"

"Not much of a house anymore, is it?" taunted America. "Seriously, what happened here? It looks like the place exploded or something."

"If it exploded, there wouldn't be anything left standing," shot back Canada.

America grinned. "Oh, silly me," he replied. "How easily I forget these things."

Canada eyed him suspiciously. "Something's off about you. It's like you took a bath in a vat of England's personality."

America shrugged. "Well, I did have to go through the Thames to get to Ig's place. Do you think that counts?"

"England's? What were you..." Canada's eyes grew when he realized what America meant. "You didn't...not England. Are you kidding me?"

"'Fraid not. My boss wanted him gone, so I had to take care of him." He shrugged. "Wasn't so hard. He was barely even there when I found him, anyway."

"You can't be serious...you killed England? You?"

"Mattie, isn't that what I just said?" America shook his head. "You should listen closer."

"I can listen just fine. I'm just surprised." Canada's eyes narrowed. "So you killed England."

"We've been over this..."

"How'd you do it? Did he try to oppose you? Did he say anything at all?"

America beamed. "I knew I liked you for a reason. Only you would ask how I did it. Most people would ask why."

"Well, how did you do it?"

America leaned against the wall. "Nothing special. I shot him in the head. But before I did, he did say one thing."

"What was it?" asked Canada.

America closed his eyes. "I believe it was... 'My arm hurts. Right here.' And he pointed to right here." America tapped the spot on his right arm just below his shoulder. Canada swallowed thickly. "And then after that, he said, 'Take care of your brother, and tell him it's not growing pains.' I don't know what that means. What does it mean, Mattie?" For a split second, America seemed so innocent. His eyes were large and childlike, and Canada couldn't find a hint of malice in them. "Well?" he demanded. Innocent America was gone.

"I don't know. It probably wasn't important."

America let out a loud, barking laugh. "If it wasn't important, he wouldn't have said it right before he died!" He knelt down and shuffled over to Canada. "What did it mean? I'm only asking so I can help."

"Like you helped England?"

"That was uncalled for." America's expression hardened. "I'm serious, Mattie. I came here to take you to my home, where you'll be safe." He wrapped his arms around Canada. "Because I love you." He nuzzled Canada's neck.

Canada's breath hitched in his throat. "G-Get...get off of me."

"But you like this~" purred America.

"N-No...no I don't. I don't like it. Please stop."

"Please?" America's tone was incredulous. "Did you actually just say please?"" He laughed again. "Are you begging me then, Mattie?"

"No. I just asked politely. The concept is foreign to you, I'm sure, even with your culture bath."

"Aw, why are you so mean to me?" Canada stiffened. "I'm just trying to understand you, you silly Canuck."

"Don't call me that."

"Sorry." He sat back and took his arms off of Canada. "And why did he call you my brother, anyway? I don't think I've called you that since...hell, I don't think I've ever called you that at all." He grinned wolfishly at Canada. "It's always Mattie or Canada, huh?"

"I don't think I've ever called you that either..."

"Except for when I ask you to. You know, when we—"

"Yes, America, I know," sighed Canada.

America frowned. "What's with this 'America' business? Why won't you call me Alfred? You always call me Alfred."

Canada looked away. "It's not because of the war, is it?" Canada didn't answer. "Mattie?" asked America gently. He didn't get a response. "I'm not going to hurt you, Mattie. I just want to take you home with me, like I said."

"I don't want to go," replied Canada simply. "I want to stay here, in my own home."

"This place is barely a home. It's going to collapse any minute. That's a terrible way to go." America took Canada's hand. "Come on. You love staying over at my place. You're just staying a little longer this time."

"No I'm not, because I'm not going," replied Canada, tugging his hand away. "I don't care if my house is about to collapse, and I don't care if you want me to go with you, I'm not going." He stood up. "Please leave."

America stood up and looked down at his brother. "I'm not leaving if you're not coming with me. I came too far to quit now."

Canada stood up, turned around, and bolted.

"Where are you going, Mattie?" Canada could hear America following him. He'd have caught up by now if he wasn't so thick—it took him longer to make it around the corners, and he didn't know the house nearly as well as Canada did. "I'm not going to hurt you!"

Another pain ripped through Canada's arm. "Fuck!" he hissed to himself.

"We can do that when we get home!" called America. Ah, so he'd heard him. "But we have to get there first!"

Canada had now made a full circle around his house. He debated running outside into the open, or up the stairs, which could fall at any second.

"Mattie!"

Well, if he was going down, he was taking America with him.

He dashed up the stairs, trying not to apply too much force to each one. He made it up safely, and started down the hallway.

Another sharp burst stabbed Canada's arm. He nearly cried out loud, but that would just draw attention to himself.

When he got to the end of the hall, he realized America had stopped running after him, and was taking his time going up the stairs. He could hear each individual creak as the heavy nation sauntered up. "Mattie~ I got a present for you."

He turned around just as America had made it up the steps. "Ku...Kumajojo?" he breathed. America was holding the small bear in his arms.

"Yep! I found him in the kitchen, licking out a bowl or something." He held the bear out in front of him. "I know how much you love this bear, so I'm going to offer you a deal."

"What do you want?" asked Canada.

"I want you to call off your men and come with me peacefully. If you do, I'll let Kumawhatever go and you can do whatever you want with him."

"And what if I don't?" asked Canada.

"Then I won't let Kuma go, except maybe to drop him out a window or something." Kuma started to squirm. Normally he'd survive that kind of fall, but he was malnourished and weak, and his survival wasn't guaranteed.

"That's cruel, America!" shouted Canada. "Don't take this out on Kuma. You're acting like a child."

"Me? A child?" sneered America. "You're the one running through the house just so you don't have to go someplace you say you don't want to. But of course, you'll have fun once you're there..."

"No I won't, America. I won't have fun, because you won't let me stay home, and home is where I want to be. Why can't you understand that?"

America's face darkened. "You want to be at home, huh?"

"Yes."

"Here, in this dilapidated building with your starving pet and your lack of food and everything?"

"Yes!"

"And not with me?"

"That's right!"

America stared at him for a second, his expression unreadable except for a small flash of hurt. "Fine. You can just...you can just wallow here until you disappear." He pulled out a pistol and shot Kuma in the head.

"Kuma!" screamed Matthew.

America dropped the bear to the ground, letting its blood slowly flow out of the bullet hole and onto the floor, making a red puddle. The taller nation walked over to Matthew slowly, letting his feet soak in the ruby fluid so as to stain the carpet while he walked over to the northerner.

"Nngh...ah!" Matthew grabbed at his arm. The pain was almost unbearable now, and not just a sharp flash anymore—it wouldn't stop. Matthew fell to his knees. "Ah..." he moaned.

"Get up," said America once he was in front of Matthew. "Now." When Matthew didn't respond, he kicked his knee. "I said get up!"

"It hurts," Matthew whimpered. "Right here, just like Arthur said..."

"What?" America's eyes grew wide. "What does that mean?" He kneeled in front of Matthew. "What does it mean, Matthew?"

"I—ah!—I don't know!" cried Matthew. "But it hurts..."

"I..." Alfred didn't know what to say for a few seconds. "J-Just, come with me, Mattie, and I'll take you to a hospital, and I promise it won't hurt anymore."

Matthew shook his head.

"Mattie, you have to come with me!" yelled America. He picked up the smaller man, who by now was doubled over, and threw him over his shoulder. Matthew cried out in pain again. It was spreading from his arm to his neck, and down to his other arm. It burned down his sides to his legs and up from his neck to the roots of his hair.

"PUT ME DOWN!"

"NO!"

"Please..." Matthew mumbled. "Please put me down...you're making it worse..." The pain started to slowly seep up from his legs to his stomach, and finally...

"Mattie, just hold on!"

...the pain hit his heart.

The shock of the jolt to his vital organ caused Matthew to scream out again as his heart took in the damage and stopped.

A few seconds later, America felt Matthew go limp. "Mattie?" he asked. Matthew didn't respond. "Mattie?" He slid Matthew's body down his chest. The man's head lolled backwards, and America put out his hand to support it. "Mattie, are you..."

Matthew's glassy eyes stared up at America. A grimace was on his pale face.

"Mattie!"

America didn't know what he was expecting. After all, dead people didn't talk. But Mattie wasn't dead...he was Mattie! There was no way he'd...

Slowly, the man in his arms grew lighter until he was practically invisible, then disappeared completely.

America's arms fell to his sides. After all, they had nothing to hold up anymore. "Mattie..."

...was gone.

AN: Did I make anyone cry? Did I? I think it'd be cool if I did. Made someone cry, that is, but with my writing. If I made someone cry because I shot their puppy (with a gun) or something, that wouldn't be cool. I'd feel really bad.

What else...oh, yeah. I've been planning this for awhile. I hope you liked it~ or hated it because I murdered Canada.

Anyway, to the point. This is what I think happens when a nation dies. I don't think they have a body left or anything, I think they just fade away and disappear. That's my head canon and I'm sticking to it.

Thanks for reading~